A coyote chewed on his bones.
You told me I'd be young again, his blood accused it.
"No," said the coyote. "I only promised you wouldn't die."
I did, you bastard. I'm leaking on the ground, and you're fucking eating me.
"You live on in me," said the coyote glibly. It ate its fill, and ran away.
After a while, the corpse got up.
"Stupid coyote," it muttered. Not that it cared any more. It went home.
Mother seemed shocked. Father just looked sad. Brother looked guilty.
"Well," said the corpse. "It's me. I'm fucking dead."
"Stop it," wept Mother. "Just stop it."
"I can't stop it," said the corpse. "'Dead' isn't a verb, it's a noun. I think."
"None of us can stop it," said Father. "We've been eating Death for years."
"I haven't," said Brother. "That was all you."
"We ate Death," said Father, "And you were the result."
"He brought it on himself," said Brother.
Mother slapped him.
"No," said the bloodless corpse. "He's right. I did."
"Death has been creeping inside us for years," murmured Father. "It just came out."
"Well," the corpse said. "That's all I had to say. I'm going to be dead somewhere else." It went away.
Mother looked at Brother. "You get out, too. I don't want to see you again."
"Fine," said Brother. "I'll get a new family. We'll eat Life, not Death."
"Fine," said Mother.
"Fine," said Father.
"Fine," said Brother. He left, looking for where the life went.
The corpse walked a different path.